


Stay Classy, San Diego

by ishie



Category: Big Bang Theory
Genre: Community: sheldon_penny, F/M, First Time, Kink Meme, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2009-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishie/pseuds/ishie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins with a dull pressure in his paranasal sinuses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Classy, San Diego

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Sheldon ingests some Viagra (by prank, accident, whatever) and is put in an awkward position (figuratively and/or literally) when Penny won't leave him alone" on the sheldon_penny December kink meme

It begins with a dull pressure in his paranasal sinuses.

Sheldon chalks it up to the pollen count (radically elevated in this city when compared to the more familiar environs of Pasadena), the long car ride (forced for the duration to sit next to Wolowitz, who has never met a synthetic musk he did not bathe in), and the pressures of responsible and authentic cosplay (six weeks spent meticulously aging the fabric of his coat was hardly for his own amusement, thank you very much).

By the time he has checked in to the hotel and finished verifying his packed clothes against the itemized inventory, the dull pressure has exploded into a blinding supernova of pain, one that if it were calculated in cosmic measurements would surely rival SN 1054. His vision blurs and nausea ripples through him. He curls up on the bed, comforter carefully folded away in the corner of the room, and prays for the sweet and tender mercy of death.

Penny knocks on the door, each blow ringing through the room and vibrating all the way down to the marrow of his bones. Sheldon fumbles to undo the security bar and she pushes her way inside. When he collapses back onto the bed, curling in on himself like a crustacean without a carapace, she follows with fluttering hands.

"Sweetie, what's wrong? Are you okay? Tell me what to do."

Sheldon somehow manages to ask for painkillers: acetaminophen, NSAIDs, morphine, tramadol _anything just any damn thing_. The light from the hallway stabs him in the eyes when she opens the door again, sending splinters of pain through his brain. He squeezes his eyes closed, concentrates on breathing, deep and slow, and curses his lack of foresight. He should have anticipated every eventuality so that he wouldn't be caught unawares.

This is the biggest event of the year. His own personal version of the Hajj, with Stan Lee as the Ka'bah in human form. _Comic-Con_.

And he's going to miss Preview Night, felled by something as mundane as a migraine.

\---

He floats on the throbbing waves of pain for he doesn't know how long. In one of nature's cruelest ironies, every time the ache in his head subsides, the nausea rears up again. He is cold and clammy and thoroughly miserable, shivering atop the thin hotel sheets, when Penny returns.

She makes him sit up and presses a plastic cup of water into his hands. He carefully pries open one eye to examine the pills in her cupped palm.

"It's Aleve," she says. "Howard had 'em. He said he needed the room in his shaving kit so he dumped the migraine pills - booty-somethings?"

"Butalbital," Sheldon corrects, wincing against the dim light in the room. He peers into her cupped palm again. There are two pills, light blue, ovoid. One of them looks more like a diamond but he is well-aware that the migraine has severely distorted the ability of his cortical neurons to process visual data.

Once he's swallowed the pills and drained the cup of lukewarm water, Penny helps him to ease beneath the sheets. When he weakly protests her replacing the comforter, she smooths a hand across the nape of his neck and fetches two large, scratchy bath towels to use instead.

"I'm just going to tell the guys to go on ahead," she whispers when he winces at the volume of her voice. "Where's your extra keycard? I'll come back to check on you in a little bit."

The room is blissfully dark and quiet when she's gone and Sheldon wills himself to sleep.

\---

When he wakes, the bright halo of light around the drapes has dimmed. He tilts awkwardly on the bed with one shoulder dipping lower than the other, the migraine has settled into a more tolerable ache at the top of his head, and a damp washcloth drips water into his ears.

The bed shakes under him, and Penny's face floats upside-down above him as she leans into view. Her thigh is pressed against his shoulder, her hair tickling against his own.

"Feel better?"

Sheldon doesn't answer right away. He's busy taking stock of his physiological condition. His head is clearer, the blurred vision has disappeared, and his stomach has settled. He nods to test whether the nausea will return with movement, but Penny seems to take it as confirmation that he has recovered.

"Good!" Penny beams down at him and peels the folded washcloth from his forehead. With a grimace at the cold water that runs down her wrist, she flings it toward the en suite bathroom where if falls with a squishy thud against the linoleum. "I was thinking about room service. You want anything? It's been hours since we ate."

"What are you doing in my room?" he asks as he pushes himself into a sitting position next to her, leaning back against the headboard for a moment before he remembers where they are - and what manner of bodily excretions could still be present on the pressed wood - and lurches forward. The towel that Penny had spread across his chest falls into his lap.

She shrugs one shoulder, the bed shimmying beneath them again with the movement. "Didn't want you to be alone in case there was something really wrong. Plus," she says, pressing lightly into his side with one elbow, "you passed out before I could sing 'Soft Kitty'."

He still cannot decipher many of her facial expressions, but this is one he knows.

"A headache is a _kind_ of sick," he echoes, only a beat behind her.

Her answering smile is blinding. Sheldon is struck by an urge to reassess his earlier conclusion, that the bright flare of pain in his head could only be fairly compared to a supernova. Clearly, he has failed to account for the relative brightness of her face when lit by true happiness - another expression he knows but rarely sees.

He knows his own smile in return is tentative. He is often at a loss when it comes to Penny. Still unable to bridge the gap between his benign affection for her as a friend and the long-denied baser urges that continue to plague him in her presence, he is well beyond the time he thinks it should have taken to inure himself to her charms.

It's a problem Sheldon hasn't faced since college, when the first stirrings of puberty wreaked havoc on his hormones, his skin, and his ability to concentrate on Hamiltonian lattice gauge theory whenever a woman came within fifty feet of him. He's grateful that Penny is frustrated by him most of the time, by his persnickety manner and his inability to lower himself to the level of everyone around him. If it weren't for that, if she were to always look at him the way she is looking at him now, he would be no better than Howard going into rut at the mere suggestion of a curved hip or rounded breast.

The piercing ring of a phone startles them. Sheldon looks away, his cheeks heating with mortification as he tries to calculate the time he spent gazing at her as though he was mentally filling out Punnett squares to predict the appearance of their future offspring. (They will be tall, sturdy, with brown hair and even odds for either blue or green eyes, though the likelihood tilts more heavily in green's favor if her sister's blue eyes are natural and not enhanced by contact lenses.)

When he turns back, Penny is dangling over the side of the bed in an attempt to fish her cell phone out of the hooded sweatshirt she'd left in a ball on the floor. Her shorts ride up the back of her legs, far enough that he can see the crease where her thighs meets her buttocks. They're the red shorts she wears for Nebraska games, the ones that cling enticingly to the curve of her posterior, the ones that are so thin and worn from repeated washings that he imagines he can see the ink of her tattoo through the material-

Sheldon looks down in surprise as excitement thrums low in his belly and he hardens under the towel in his lap.

Penny is wholly engrossed in whatever she's doing with her phone, still dangling over the side of the bed with her backside jiggling slightly. Sheldon bunches up the towel in his lap and presses down with the heel of his hand against the base of his erection. This particular reaction of his parasympathetic nervous system is not without precedent; he once spent three-quarters of an hour in his room during a _Doctor Who_ marathon after accidentally walking in on Penny stepping out of their shower.

"So, apparently," she says, then falls silent as she starts to wiggle back up onto the bed. "Apparently the rest of the guys are going to some afterparty in another hotel. They probably won't get back before the morning."

Sheldon's hands clench in the terrycloth and he grits his teeth as she settles herself next to him again. Her face is flushed from being upside-down and her hair is in wild disarray. His pulse leaps and throbs between his legs as she pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, her right breast lifting with the movement to press more fully against the front of her tank top. Like her shorts, the fabric is so thin that he can see the dusky shadow of her areola under it.

He presses his lips together as his palm tingles with the memory of cupping that breast, her nipple pebbling against his skin before he withdrew.

Penny looms toward him suddenly, one hand rising to brush against the hair at his temple. "Is this sweat or water?" she asks, rubbing her fingers together.

"Water," he croaks as fresh sweat beads along his forehead, proving him a liar. "From the- The-" He can smell her now, a warm musky scent with a hint of something floral, and it derails his train of thought.

"The washcloth? Sheldon, are you all right? You don't look so good."

She flattens her hand across his forehead like she's taking his temperature. He can't even summon the words to tell her how grossly inaccurate such a measurement is as a diagnostic tool. It feels like his brain has been spontaneously rewired so that it forwards every impulse from his sensory neurons directly to his groin. He can feel every brush of her skin against his, every fiber of his clothing as it shifts over his body, and all of it - improbably, _impossibly_ \- makes him grow even harder, until he's skating along the fine line between pleasure and pain. Until he thinks he might explode.

She pulls back, biting her bottom lip. "Maybe we should get you to the emergency room."

He chokes out an approximation of his usual chuckle. Aside from the hopefully temporary dysphasia and the migraine that has all but disappeared, there is nothing wrong with him that a few minutes alone won't cure. (He ignores the tiny voice that assures him it will take only seconds.) He is well aware that his friends, and likely many acquaintances and family members, believe him to be several steps removed from basic reproductive urges. He's been unfortunate enough to overhear Raj, Howard, and Leonard discussing their outlandish theories on his "deal" several times over the years.

In fact, until she moved in across the hall and started twisting herself into every possible facet of his existence, he thought he'd defeated that particular biological imperative - aside from the occasional bout of self-stimulation to relieve stress or anxiety. But Penny, with her laughter and casual touches and tanned, smooth skin, has awoken something in him that requires constant denial.

And now he has to get her out of the room long enough to lie back, close his eyes, and stroke himself to something approaching normalcy.

Penny's still eyeing him with a worried frown and he struggles to come up with a plausible reason for sending her away. His eyes dart wildly around the room until they settle on the ice bucket just visible on the bathroom counter. He touches a hand to his head and tries to wince.

"My head still aches," he says in a stilted tone. Hopefully she'll think it related to the headache and not his abysmal dissembling skills. "Perhaps some caffeine will alleviate the pain."

"I have a bunch of Mountain Dew in my room!" Penny shimmies off the bed and Sheldon looks down to make sure the movement hasn't dislodged his camouflage.

She's halfway across the room and still moving toward the door before Sheldon lets himself believe that this hastily composed plan is going to work. He shifts on the bed to swing his legs over the side. He can't hold back the groan pushing its way out of his throat as she turns back and dips down to pick up her hooded sweatshirt, her breasts nearly spilling out of her tank top. When she straightens, her nipples push against the thin fabric and he has to knot his hands in the towel he's still clutching against his pelvis to keep from reaching under it.

"Seriously, what the _hell_?"

Penny marches back to the bed and wraps her hand around his bicep, trying to haul him to his feet. He windmills his arm to break her grip - a self-defense trick learned at a very early age - and jerks away from her. She's thrown off-balance by the move and wobbles toward him, her hands landing on his shoulders. He clutches at her elbows to keep her from toppling over, and somehow, _somehow_, he winds up flat on his back with Penny plastered all along the length of his body. Her legs fall to either side of one of his, her soft bare thigh riding against his penis, the towel no longer shielding his reaction to her.

He can't catch his breath - although whether that's from pleasure or her chin pressing into his sternum, he couldn't say. Penny shifts over him, pressing her hands into the bed to push herself up. He can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her shorts against his leg. Her eyes are wide and startled when he looks up at her. The hard beads of her nipples are evident through the layers that separate their chests, and she presses her thigh harder against him, rubbing him through his trousers, an electric friction right where he needs it most. She curls her fingers around his arm again, her nails digging into his skin and he climaxes with a choked-off gasp and short, sharp jerks of his hips.

If he had any inclination toward organized religion or a belief system that he cannot quantify in a lab, this is when he might start to pray.

\---

Sheldon shudders with the aftershocks for an eternity, Penny frozen above him.

"Did you just-?"

She doesn't need to finish the question nor, technically, did she need to start it. Her thigh is still pressed against him, against the damp fabric of his pants, his penis still hard and aching. His normal refractory period has been short-circuited somehow and he feels the pressure continuing to build.

He answers anyway, with a whispered "Yeah" and a shaky nod.

Penny's hand tightens on his arm and he swallows, hard. She shifts over him again, sliding against his body just a fraction of an inch, but it's enough to rip a groan from deep in his chest.

"Sheldon," she whispers. "Sweetie, look at me."

He opens his eyes, unaware until that moment that they were closed, and locks his gaze on hers. Her eyes are wider than before, the pupils fully dilated so that only a tiny ring of green is visible.

His higher brain functions are still not working properly so he can't identify which of them is the first to move. All he knows is that her hair is soft against his hands, her ears hot against his palms, and her mouth wet and sweet against his.

Somehow they roll to one side, shifting positions so that she is tucked underneath him on the bed. His knees slip off the side of the mattress as her legs fall open beneath him. She scoots across the bed with her hands under his arms, pulling him along with her. Her hair gets caught under his hand and she winces, dragging her mouth from his. When she tries to move away, her shoulder knocks into his elbow and he falls forward, his hips grinding down into hers.

\---

Penny's back is arched, bowing them up off the bed, and every roll of her hips makes his breath grow more ragged. Her arms are locked behind his back, holding his torso to hers. She worries the lobe of his ear between her teeth, little pinpricks of pressure that she laves away with her tongue and lips.

He can't figure out what to do next. Whatever knowledge he has of this act (substantial but largely theoretical) has vanished from memory, replaced with the scrape of her fingernails against his scalp and the hot, damp give of her flesh where he grinds against her. Penny's teeth move to his throat, closing gently over his bounding pulse before she puts her hands to his shoulders and pushes.

Sheldon collapses on the bed next to her. His brain starts whirling: she's metabolized whatever drug compelled her to touch him in the first place, she's broken free of the mind control device directing her movements, whatever alternative universe he's slipped into is unraveling-

But Penny's not pulling away. Instead, she's pushing his shirts up to his collarbone. She licks a broad stripe over his ribs, then sucks his nipple between her lips. Every muscle in his body clenches when her teeth close over it. His hands claw at the sheets beneath him as hers drag along his lower abdomen and start unbuckling his belt.

Sheldon lifts his head, a gargantuan effort, and stares down at her bent head. She notices somehow and slants a look up at him, a wicked grin flashing at him in the dim, dark room.

She keeps her eyes locked on his as she lays aside the ends of his leather belt and works on the button and zipper of his khaki pants. Her grin grows more pronounced as she takes her time, stroking him with her wrist through the fabric as she does.

He cries out as her hand slips under the waistband of his briefs and pulls him free. Her fingers are cool against his overheated flesh. She wraps her hand loosely around him, tugging from base to tip and back again. His legs twist as he tries to brace his feet against the bed. Penny gets up on her knees and straddles his thighs to hold them down, her shorts riding up. She pumps him in long, sure strokes with one hand as she draws off her tank top with the other.

Her breasts bounce as they fall free of the fabric, her nipples high and tight. Sheldon rips his hands away from the bedding and closes them over her soft, rounded flesh. She throws back her head, her hand squeezing around his shaft.

He wants to push himself up and taste her, slide his mouth over her skin the way she did to him. But before he can, Penny wriggles out of reach and goes down on her belly between his legs, pulling his pants and briefs along with her as she does. She moves up again, only a little, her breasts grazing against the inside of his thighs. Her hair cascades down over him, her breath hot and damp against his skin. Her hand closes over his penis again. His eyes slam shut and he collapses back against the bed as she runs her thumb over the smooth head.

"Sheldon," she says, her voice low and husky, something he's never imagined he would hear. Not in this context, anyway. "Sheldon, open your eyes. I want you to watch."

He lifts his head again, unable to disobey the command in her tone. She smiles when his eyes meet hers and then her head bows down and she wraps her lips around him.

It takes a superhuman act of will for Sheldon to keep his head up and his eyes on what she's doing to him. Between the pressure of her hand and the hot, wet slide of her mouth, his eyes cross and she slides out of focus. His hands flail up to her shoulders, her head. He wants to fist his hands in her hair and buck up into her mouth.

Penny moves her hand from his shaft and presses one of his hips against the bed, her lips and tongue and a hint of her teeth sliding over him. With the other she grasps one of Sheldon's flailing hands and twines their fingers together, holding it down against the bed beside his hip. He blinks and his vision corrects itself for an instant, seeing her cheeks hollow as her head bobs up and down, her breasts swaying, barely visible through the fall of her hair.

When her head goes down again, the entire length of him gliding over her tongue until her nose tickles his skin, Sheldon falls apart, her name on his lips.

\---

When Sheldon surfaces again, Penny is sprawled half on top of him. Her fingers thread through the hair on his chest, nails scraping against his skin. Sometime in the intervening minutes she has managed to divest him of what remained of his clothing. Even his feet are bare, though he can still feel the fabric of her shorts against the back of the hand he has trapped between them. He is boneless, exhausted, fine tremors still sparking along a hundred thousand nerve endings.

Unbelievably, he is also still half-erect.

Penny presses an open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone. "I'm ready whenever you are," she hums against his skin.

He's not entirely sure of the protocol here, though he fears that his gelatinous muscles and general torpor preclude any form of reciprocatory activities. He makes a defeated noise and she huffs out a laugh.

"It's okay! I don't mean right _now_."

Her hand skates down his abdomen until it rests on the flesh over his pubic symphysis. His hands twitch, the knuckles of the trapped one pressing into her. She pulls away from him with another laugh.

"I can't make any promises about waiting if you do that," she says, then leans down to fit her mouth to his. Her bare breasts pillow against his arm and chest, and he curses his body for refusing to rise to the occasion in any but the most vulgar way.

Penny pads on bare feet to the bathroom and comes back with another plastic cup full of lukewarm water. He manages to pull himself up into a semi-upright position, muscles trembling with the effort, while she settles down cross-legged next to him. In her absence, his erection has finally subsided and he pulls the sheets over his lap, hoping it will stay that way for a while. Although, with her breasts still jiggling below the curtain of her hair, he's sure it won't be long at all.

She unearths the television remote from somewhere and curls against his side as she flips on the set and scrolls through the channels. She lands on something with a group of impossibly good-looking people sitting around a table eating a holiday dinner and sighs happily as she leans into him.

It takes longer for Sheldon to relax. As his heart rate slows and his respiration returns to normal, he is increasingly aware of every millimeter of his skin where Penny is pressed against him. Each breath draws her scent deeper into his nasal passages. His brain flips through millions of remembered images of her and he starts to compose a list of every part of her body he wants to touch and tease and lick.

"Stop thinking," she cautions. "You're going to ruin it."

Sheldon snakes his arm around her, resting his hand on her hip. He runs his fingertips along the edge of her shorts and dips them lower, under the elastic band to brush against her skin.

"On the contrary," he says, "I think it's high time you found out how much forethought and planning can improve a situation."


End file.
